albinomilksnake | DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST

[Connor are you legitimately trying to give him a heart attack? Maybe by this time he had gotten to expect the unexpected with the android, so thankfully by that time Hank had already gotten into his underwear. That didn't stop the rage rising from his body into his eyes, a look that would have sent many red ice deals running away in fear.]

Jesus Connor, didn't they program you some goddamn manners?! Get the fuck out of my bathroom!

[He must he the only cop in all of Detroit who gets assaulted in his own house...twice. Grabbing the towel still wet from drying his hair and body, he makes a pretty good throw in Connor's direction and towards the other's face.]

Lemme put on some damn clothes and we'll go! Were you planning on dragging me out of bed if I hadn't been up?!

[He's grumpy, annoyed, hasn't eaten and, worst of all, hasn't had one drop of liquor since last night. He's feeling too sane this morning, he doesn't like it.

But eventually, just a few minutes later, Hank appears, still glaring at Connor the same way as he had before, a towel around his neck.]

What are we dealing with?

[...and yet least it be for Hank to ignore the call of a crime in progress.]

[There's a towel folded and settled neatly within his arms— easily recognized as the very same one that had been thrown at him by the Lieutenant only a few minutes prior.]

If necessary, I am both equipped and prepared to assist you in all matters of personal mobility.

[In other words: yes, Hank. He would have dragged you straight out of bed.]

Approximately one hour ago I received a report involving a deviant that had been working at a loading bay nearby. Its attempt to steal valuable biocomponents and resources from the storehouse in which it was housed resulted in the injury of three human workers, as well as a number of damaged shipments.

It is also possible, given the nature of the theft, that this android may have been in contact with Jericho.

[Goddammit Connor stop taking better care of his shit, this is becoming just as embarrassing as the fact you thought it was okay to bother him in the bathroom.]

What the fuck, Connor.

[He does not need an android to carry or drag him around. He finishes adjusting his outfit (with one quick check to make sure it doesn't smell of 'I didn't wash you this week') he listens to Connor's details even as he opens his fridge. Shit, there's gotta be some leftover takeout he can eat this morning with coffee.]

Right, so you want to go see if you'll find clues leading to Jericho. I got it.

[Fuck, whatever. This twinkie will do, he'll just microwave this coffee.]

Breakfast of champions, Connor. Let's go.

You got it, Lieutenant.

[One curt nod sees them on their way (Connor doesn't bother asking for the car keys; aside from those brief instances where Hank is far too inebriated to responsibly handle his own vehicle, there's a mostly unspoken agreement between them that Connor stays out of the drivers seat), and within the span of another twenty minutes filled with the scent of stale coffee, they arrive to a mostly lukewarm crime scene: much of the initial crew has departed, leaving a spattering of police, forensic crew—

—and Gavin Reed, visible not twenty feet off from their position, already curling his lip in a sneer angled right into the bright haze of Hank's headlights.]

[Hank pressed on the gas and slammed into him.]

[A+ good ending the credits roll]

[credit music]

Produced by: David Cage
Directed by: David Cage
Written by: David Cage
Music by: David Cage
David Cage by: David Cage

Edited 2018-06-22 21:57 (UTC)

[The real reason Connor is you'd mess up the Hank-shaped indentation in the driver's seat. One has to wonder where the hell he found the car, but the fact it still drives and he's allowed to have anything manual on the road is a mini mystery/miracle in itself. Seeing Gavin's sneer, Hank half considers breaking loudly but parks his car next to what's left of Detroit's best. The old vehicle crashes against the sleek designs, much like Hank did with everyone else. As he cuts the engine, he looks over to Connor.]

Think he'll leave once he sees us?

[After all, they had sort of proved Gavin wrong at the Eden Club last time.]

Edited 2018-06-22 22:15 (UTC)

[Connor stiffens in his seat, his eyes locked forward, brows pinching by the barest of degrees. It takes less than a second.

Calculating...

The numbers read clearly: lines of traced code only Connor can see, reinforced by each and every prior encounter with Gavin Reed thus far, all organized by statistical probability. His head turns, expression reading as sympathetic for how he thins his lips— letting them pull upwards just at the corner.]

No, Hank. [If being correct in terms of evidence and policework were a valid deterrent for Reed's presence, the man would probably have retired by now and fled at least three states over. Instead he's here, hands already folded across his chest, mouth twisted into a crooked line.] I don't think he will.

Edited 2018-06-23 08:32 (UTC)

Yeah probably not. Asshole's trying to climb his way up the ranks, he'll want to stand around with his dick out at this point.

[Everyone at the force knew Hank and Gavin's mutual hatred for each other. Well in the case of Hank, it started much later when he saw the other's true nature.]

Right. Let's just get it over with.

[The looks of the other policemen at the fact HANK ANDERSON is there so early in the morning is totally worth it, now that they don't have to stay around Gavin anymore. Even if that smile on the other fades just briefly, it is 100% worth it.]

Why the face? We figured you boys could use a hand...

[Or at least Connor's analyzing abilities.]

From you and your little plastic pet? Is that what you think? [He talks through his teeth, wearing a smile that's only a fraction above the way a dog pulls back its lips before it bites, widening his stance when he carries himself forward into Anderson's space. Into his face, really, tipping his own chin up as a means to level out their difference in height.

Gavin drops his voice, lowers it just enough so that he's barely, barely audible:]

You two are a joke, you know that, right? Fowler's just stringing you along so that none of us have to put up with you fucking everything up wherever you go.

Nah. We don't need your help.

Lieutenant Anderson and I have been assigned all cases involving deviants— [Connor interjects insistently. There is no logical reason as to why he steps closer to Hank in the process, he has no explanation for the way his own voice rises in pitch, or why his eyebrows knit in what— to any observing human— would read as apparent frustration. He is not frustrated. He cannot be frustrated, much less concerned for the well being of his partner beyond his relevance to the investigation.

But he moves in close all the same, posture angled sharply between them.]

Yeah that's what I think, detective. [Hank doesn't pull rank often, but he is more than happy to do it when Gavin is involved - just a friendly reminder that Hank was far more advanced at the other's age.

He doesn't even bother whispering too much - the animosity is well known in the force.]

Fowler and I go way back, kid. If the thought of him stringing me along helps you sleep at night and get your dick up, I don't give a shit. If you thought you could continue to go around yapping for the past few years, just thought I'd let you know that recess is over.

[Maybe that thought is more frightening; whatever this case had done to him, Hank was starting to sound a lot more focused than before.]

Comeon Connor, I'm sure there's a bunch of shit that'll need analyzing.

Yeah? [Gavin asks, a brief flicker of— something flashing lividly at the edges of his expression. Maybe anger, maybe the start of a bruised ego, maybe he just fucking hates Hank Anderson. Either way, it's gone almost as quickly as it'd appeared, tension giving way after a tense beat.] I'd say I can't wait to see a real master at work, but I've got better things to do than watch you two dipshits stand around and jack each other off.

[He's smiling when he says it, showing the edges of his teeth as he jerks his thumb towards the dead center of Hank's chest, eye line shifting towards Miller (who, to his credit, seems less enthusiastic about Reed's commentary).]

Good luck with your uh, 'case', Lieutenant.

[It was there enough for Hank to see it, and he has to stop himself form smiling briefly, least he causes another incident to add to his folder (although he's pretty sure if Gavin attacked him and he punched back, nothing would come out of it).]

Well then go back to the office and have fun with your paperwork.

[The way he moves Gavin's accusing finger is both a testament to how often Hank's done this before - he's been in Detroit for far longer than Gavin and had far more dangerous accusing fingers pointed at him. In the end, Gavin was nothing more than an asshole.]

Looking forward to getting it solved, detective. I'll make sure we figure it out properly.

[Gavin curls his fingers when Hank presses them aside— expression soured— but it's the last gesture before he turns to leave, flicking those same fingertips forward to flag down Miller as he climbs into his car.

Connor turns, following doggedly along in the shadow of Anderson's footsteps.]

Lieutenant, you should exercise caution when dealing with Detective Reed. He is unpredictable, and faces very little disciplinary repercussion for his actions.

[If something were to happen to Hank, Connor's own mission would be jeopardized: he does not know if they would assign him to someone else, he does not know if he would be blamed for either stepping in on Anderson's behalf (—he would—) or for failing to. He does not know— and in reaction to that, the ring at his temple flashes vivid yellow, flickering brightly in dim light.]

Yeah well we're both the same when it comes to that.

[Hank might have binders of actions against him, but it's not like Folwer did much about it apart from just adding it to his dossier. He looks and sees Connor's yellow circle and understands enough that the Android is the equivalent of being upset or at least stressed out.]

Listen, Connor. He might be unpredictable, but I've dealt with him for a few years. I know what makes him tick. He's the type of cop that either needs to shape up, or he'll just become the bad apples you hear about. Folwer and I might not always see eye to eye, but I know he wants his district to be run clean. If Reed steps out of line, he'll regret it. Or maybe he wants to be shipped off somewhere else. Would do everyone at the station some good.

[But now they have a mystery to solve and also Hank needs something better to eat after this. The twinkie only had a limited amount of sugar and energy.]

Edited (RPing with too many Millers brain fried) 2018-07-15 03:07 (UTC)

From my own analysis of his personality and behavioral patterns, I do not think that's what he wants.

[But he can't force Hank to listen, and by now, he doesn't expect him to. Connor thins his lips, stare flickering briefly as it falls away from the Lieutenant down towards the scattered debris and marked evidence nearby— and then back again.]

In the future, I'd prefer it if you would simply file complaints against his personal conduct.

Take the appropriate approach.

[Connor you get out of cars when told to stay and lick things when Hank asks you to stop. Hank is about to say something when he notices Connor's...discomfort? Maybe. Probably a small glitch in his program or something.]

When I start being an ideal cop, I'll think about it. [Hank had entire folders worth of bad conduct. A complaint would probably get Fowler laughing in his face.]

Look Connor, don't worry about it. If he gives you a problem, just tell me. We've got more important things to do than keep talking about the force's Chihuahua.

[Besides Hank's appropriate approach; punch people in the face. You'd love it Connor.]

[Connor telegraphs. He was, if nothing else, designed to. Riding the thin, thin line between emotional transparency and robotic focus, and those times when Connor oscillates back and forth are the times when it seems most like he is a prototype rather than a fully polished product: there's no gracefulness to it. A process of trial and error— and occasionally too much error.

He lids his eyes, nodding out a quiet concession. Focus on the mission.

(Strange, though, having Hank as the bearer of that particular sentiment.)

It takes him little time to comb over the crime scene once he is on task: most of the evidence markers have already been placed— but beyond the damage done to shipment crates and heavy machinery, aside from the testimony of present witnesses and remaining police staff— there are small traces of unnoticed blood. Blue blood, he believes, already dipping his fingers down into the still-viscous liquid and swiping them decisively across the tip of his tongue.]

Lieutenant, over here.

[As Connor moved around, Hank gathered what he could from the staff that was still there (admittedly surprised to see him at all. Words were exchange and Connor might have heard something about how 'having an Android finally means you wake up in the morning like everyone else?' along with a few choice swears from Hank in reply. Good-natured, of course. When the Android calls his name, he walks over, a pad filled with information in his hands. His face turns to brief disgust; he can't help it.]

What--oh what the fuck! Connor! Can't you just do that when I'm not looking? [Once more, he finds himself questioning why CyberLife thought this was the best idea for the prototype.] Shit, I don't think I'll ever be able to handle that part of your analyzation process.

[But he's a mini-lab, as much as Hank hates to admit. After another sigh, he walks closer, his eyes dotting the ground, the bluish blood already starting to become invisible to his own eyes and attempts to bend to look over, his body barely following. He looks a lot more serious, frowning as he looks at Connor.]

So is that spilled blue blood, or does it belong to an android?

Edited 2018-07-19 02:56 (UTC)

[Connor offers no apologies for his behavior (or his decision not to utilize discretion), having aleady exposed Lieutenant Anderson to the specifics of his diagnostic processes on exactly seven prior cases. It's only when Hank's remarkably specific question ('—is it spilled, or does it belong to an android?') registers that Connor's head snaps upright, dense brows raised in unmistakable surprise.] You are particularly astute today.

[His train of thought drifts briefly back to the breakfast Lieutenant Anderson had consumed only forty-five minutes prior: perhaps, despite its high caloric reading and lack of dietary nutrition, the amount of sugar present within that snack item had indeed made it 'a breakfast of champions'— or maybe Hank is just committing to his work for a change. Interesting, and duly noted.

Connor nods out a pleased affirmation:] It belongs to a specific model. DT700, designed specifically to handle heavy workloads.

I believe this is our deviant. [He lifts two fingers, gesturing towards a fading trail of Blue Blood in an attempt to highlight what remains visible to human eyes.] And I believe that it was damaged attempting to escape with what it had stolen.

[A trail of registered Blue Blood. Four missing crates of supplies (one damaged and left behind), with three humans injured on site— likely alerted by the first victim, who had a 99.7% chance of directly witnessing the theft. One destroyed forklift, one broken window. There is a picture here, forming slowly.] Did you learn anything from the human witnesses?

[Hank's expression is undeniably one of pride at Connor's statement. However he answers in typical Hank-like fashion.]

Hey with what's surrounding us, it's a logical question to ask, Connor.

[Still, Hank ▲. Maybe it would be Hank ▼ if he actually knew Connor's train of thoughts and how he's 'working for a change'. Fortunately, mind thoughts were not shareable between human and androids...at least not yet, and probably never in the ever-rising political climate. He scowls when the fingers are brought closer to his face; maybe it seems normal to Connor but to Hank he just imagines a fellow police officer showing him blood on his hands. It's not something he'd let any other officer do unless they were 1) an android 2) didn't have fingerprints to mess up the crime scene 3) Hank knew Connor wasn't doing it to be an ass.]

So a model goes deviant at the workplace and breaks free. [It wasn't a thread in all their cases, but many of them involved at least ONE deviant that had been working there.] Wonder why they risked coming here. Supplies running low or grabbing what they can now before shit gets worse?

[To be fair he's just asking questions outloud, and doesn't expect Connor to answer them all just yet. At his question he looks down on the pad.]

Didn't have time to speak with them yet, but if got some cliff-notes for 'em that I've been looking into. Main witness' name is Edward Owens, he was working on the forklift when the deviants attacked. Can't say how many deviants were involved. Had to be taken to the hospital after his statements, there are pieces of glass lodged in his left arm and pieces of metal cut his face, arms and and legs, so they ain't taking any chances. [Unlike androids, tetanus can be pretty deadly if untreated.] Injuries are suspected to come from being thrown out of the vehicle against his will and his initial resistance. I'll get someone to go to the hospital and obtain a confirmation later today once we're done.

[He moves a finger to load up the next screen.]

We have two security guards, Ian Millikin and Michael Kelly. Edward's screams alerted them during their rounds. Said they managed to get one injured before they were knocked out both cold from behind. Michael says he saw a deviant in civilian clothing but that's all he managed to remember before he was knocked out. Camera footage is inconclusive. My guess is they knew where the cameras were planted.

Last victim is Carlos Owens. [Edward's brother. With jobs being so scarce, families working together wasn't uncommon with someone who had a job highly recommending their own family.] He was manning the gate. They used the forklift to ram into it. He's a bit out of it, but he moved out of the way before anything happened to him. Said he saw at least four androids leaving. No mention on injuries.

Edited 2018-07-19 22:47 (UTC)

[As he listens to Hank's recounting of acquired facts, a thought occurs to him. He voices it without intending to:] Why would a deviant attack its own place of work?

It could have simply taken the materials it wanted unnoticed.

[It could have acted as though nothing was wrong, and the humans surrounding it would most likely have detected nothing out of the ordinary. And yet the scene they're overlooking now is— in no small amount— chaotic. The shattered glass, the human injuries, the damaged goods left hurriedly behind.] This portion of the theft was messy. It wasn’t planned, but the other androids’ movements must have been.

They knew where the cameras were. They had information. They were hoping to be careful.

[One clipped inhale— Connor twists on his heel to face Hank more fully, despite the fact that with Hank leaning down and Connor twisting upwards, there’s barely an inch of empty space between them. He doesn’t care. This is— this is important:] Do you think it’s possible that they really are capable of spreading deviancy like a virus?

[Errors in key markers of their software. That's what Cyberlife had initially hypothesized. A small, potentially easily remedied mistake, gone unnoticed by programmers and engineers alike. Only Amanda had referred to it as a virus. Only once, with urgency in her voice like a spur against his side. He's thinking about the Stratford Tower incident. About the surveillance android, about the maintenance android nearly thirty stories below, and the receptionist that had permitted an unauthorized, unlogged entry. All complicit in the deviant's plan to overwhelm any human staff present, yet none displaying any prior signs of deviancy up until that point.

The android there, the one that had demanded that all androids be granted the rights of a new species, it had been an RK model. He'd never told Hank.]

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN OPEN RP POST

Now an actual tag before bed

the deviants never leave.jpg

This and other great writing by David Cage

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Not a real tag 2: electrical bungalow

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woops wrote a novel

THAT TAG IS VERY GOOD